It's That Kind Of Day
by MoonlitSecrets
Summary: SPOILERS IF YOU HAVE NOT FINISHED THE LAST BOOK/ MOVIE! George is faced with a future he never wanted, and he desperately clings to the past. Perhaps it's just the weather. A two-part story (might turn into three, depending on how the second chapter goes)


George never liked sunny days. He preferred a nice overcast. He marveled how it made the world look like one large photograph. He also liked how the clouds would provide darkness in which those who did not wish to be caught could sneak around. The shadows they cast made the world seem secretive and mysterious, the calm before a possible storm.

Such a day occurred when he was fourteen years of age, when he and his twin decided to play a prank on stuck-up Percy. When he came out of his study out of necessity to use the loo, they hid in the darkened hallway, one normally lit up from the window at the end.

They quickly switched out his ink for one they invented. This particular ink would disappear and reappear at random time intervals. They had laughed together that day, hanging on to one another for balance as they watched their older brother freak out about important documents that he just wrote gone missing, only to find it in the same spot a random time later.

It quickly turned boring, however, as Percy realized they were involved somehow, and sent them to their room. Not that they went because they were told to. No, the twins only retreated to their room to think of even nastier pranks they could use in revenge against getting yelled at. The lack of light in the room caused them to work in candle light, hanging lanterns containing the wax all around the room. Fred thought of it as an annoyance, but George didn't mind. The lanterns made the room look peaceful, and the warm summer air that came through the window made him feel at ease, as if nothing in the world could go wrong.

George would also recall a day that happened so long ago he sometimes wonders if the memory is real. He was about three and was staring wide-eyed at the sky, as if seeing it for the first time.

"Fweddie, wher'd the sun go?" he asked, his voice thick from the ice cream he had been sharing with his twin.

"I don' know Geogie. Maybe he's scared."

"Scared of wha'?"

"I don' know wha. Maybe it's Chawlie's face."

Young George had giggled at that, then was immediately scolded by Charlie, who apparently didn't enjoy the idea of the sun not wanting to see his face, and attempted to explain why the sun was gone. This didn't go well, as the boys didn't really want to listen to a boring explanation from their older brother. They just wanted to know if it would ever come back.

It's not that George necessarily hated sunny days. In fact, he enjoyed them when the winter months came and the sun would provide at least some warmth to the frozen land below. But when the clouds came, so did the snow.

"Hey George, head's up!"

It was a second's warning before snow hit his face. This surprised him in a few ways. For one, he had just been gazing at the sky, watching the flakes fall down with Fred's shoulder touching his; two identical faces peering at the sky. Also, for someone to accurately guess which twin he was without a close-up inspection. Even at ten years of age, there was almost no difference to be seen.

It had been Bill who threw the snowball, but he wasn't the only one with ammo. Charlie, Ron, and Percy were there, throwing snowballs and having fun. Even little Ginerva was bundled up and in the snow, squealing in delight at the odd substance that littered the cold December ground.

The twins wouldn't miss out on the opportunity for ten galleons. They quickly rolled up what little snow had fallen and threw them at their brothers, pretending they were great snowball assassins. By the time the siblings all stumbled into the house, they were soaked, frozen, and out of breath. Their mother was quick to scold them about making a mess.

It was yet another overcast day when George went to the family graveyard. In his hand he had fresh Forget-Me-Nots. He walked slowly, reading each stone as he went, before stopping at the last one- the freshest. Kneeling down, he replaced the wilting flowers with the new ones. He knew he could magically keep them alive, but this way he had a reason to keep coming back. Sometimes, he wondered why he even needed a reason to visit his own brother. Sighing, George brought his legs under him so he was leaning back, sitting on his heels.

"Hey, git. I brought you fresh flowers. Thought maybe the other ones were making you sad. You're such a girl, making me bring you flowers. I think we should change your name to Fredilina, eh?" He started talking to the gravestone. He was smiling, but anyone could tell it was fake and dead. Sure enough, he could no longer keep it up as a frown made its way onto his freckled face.

"Hey, don't ignore me now. C'mon, you gotta stop doing that; it's really pissing me off!" George began to raise his voice, his brave face crumbling as the first tear made its way down his face, splashing to the ground.

"I have enough problems as it is because of you! Do you know what it's like to see Mum now?! Every bloody time she sees me, she dies on the inside because she thinks for a second I'm you! You don't know what it's like to see your own Mum actively avoiding the hardship of looking at you because she doesn't want to be reminded-" Four more tears came while he talked. George fell forward, his hands stretched out as he braced himself. The next sentence came out thick and forced, like he was eating syrup.

"She doesn't want to be reminded that you're dead." He wept bitterly at his own words, even though they had been swirling around in his mind ever since the battle. Two tears fell at the same time on either cheek, one falling to the earth while the other one stubbornly clung on to George's jaw.


End file.
